


Respite

by KatWylder



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatWylder/pseuds/KatWylder
Summary: It's hard to go home. Fortunately, John always has a place onInfinity.One shot.Minor spoilers for "Shadows of Reach."
Relationships: John-117 | Master Chief/Thomas Lasky
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HotDogHowitzer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotDogHowitzer/gifts).



> Got inspired after reading SoR to write a short one-shot for my favorite Halo rarepair. Dedicated to HotDogHowitzer for being a fantastic friend, writing buddy, and world's biggest Johnsky shipper. :)

A smile blossomed across Captain Lasky’s face as he looked up from his reading and stood, dressed in his standard-issue sweats and t-shirt. He didn’t say anything and by now, he didn’t need to. The upturn of his brows and the worried crease etched between them said enough. He reached the open door in three quick strides, and took John’s much larger hands in his own, leading the Spartan back into his quarters.

Tom sighed as if he had been holding his breath since the moment they said good-bye, and rocked up on his toes to kiss John’s cheek.

“Welcome back.”

John closed his eyes and stood, wobbling slightly on his still-healing legs, then bowed his head to Tom’s shoulder. He felt Tom’s hand caress his cheek and brush through his hair, and he leaned into the touch.

“C’mon. Let’s get you off your feet,” Tom said, giving his hands a gentle tug.

John nodded and allowed himself to be guided back to the bed he had increasingly begun to think of as “theirs.” John sat down first, practically falling into it as he released the tension that had kept him upright for the past few hours. He was glad the bed was built into the wall. Tom followed, more gracefully.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” John muttered. “ _Old_.”

Tom gave the barest hint of a chuckle. “What does that make me, then?”

The captain was a year older than John, which had been something of a surprise to them both. Instead of answering, he rolled over onto his side and wrapped both arms around Tom’s soft waist.

He felt Tom stroke through his hair gently. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m here to listen.”

It was a standing offer—had been ever since their meeting on _Infinity’s_ observation deck two years ago—but Tom always felt the need to reiterate it. John never protested; sometimes, he needed the reminder. That was why he was here, after all, instead of with Blue Team.

He loved and trusted them. They were his closest friends, his family. But he was also their leader, and that meant he couldn’t be vulnerable with them, not like this. Tom had already seen him at his worst, and hadn’t flinched. Tom was respite and safety. And love.

John’s sore trapezius began to nag at him, and he turned over onto his back and scooted up further into bed. He cupped a hand around the back of Tom’s neck, and gently pulled him down for a kiss.

“I never thanked you for the back-up, earlier,” he said.

Tom fixed him with a somber look, then shook his head and returned the kiss. “Glad I could arrange it.”

He said nothing more on the subject, but John knew: Tom had given serious consideration to leaving Blue Team on Reach. John didn’t fault him for it for an instant. Tom was his lover, but Captain Lasky was the commander of humanity’s most powerful vessel—and one of the few UNSC ships to escape Cortana’s grasp. _Infinity_ was too important to lose, and John found himself relieved to know that Tom was still willing to make the hard decisions despite their relationship. Duty had to come first, for both of them.

Tom kissed his lips again gently, then his brow. “Hey,” he said, sitting up, and pretended to scowl. He swung one foot around to tap at John’s heel. “Take your boots off. Were you raised in a barn?”

John grinned. “That’s classified.”

Tom tried to stare him down, but the expression quickly broke into a smile of his own. “I’m going to get a snack. You want anything?”

“Chocolate milk,” John answered almost as one syllable. That simple treat was one of his favorite things, and he knew Tom kept a tin of powdered cocoa in the kitchenette for him.

“Coming right up. And get your muddy boots off the bed,” he scolded.

“Aye aye.”

He shucked off his boots, then decided to extricate himself from his trousers, too, and stretched out on the bed. John closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of the linens against his skin and the faint _whoosh_ of the air circulators, willing himself to release some of his constant vigilance and enjoy a moment of quiet comfort. He couldn’t meditate like Linda did, but he was trying to make more use of the grounding techniques she had shared with him. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Repeat.

The sound of Tom’s returning footfall against the floor brought him back, and he opened his eyes to see the man carrying a glass in each hand and a small foil packet of dried fruit in his mouth. Tom’s eyes widened as he glanced down at the bandages and myosin on John’s bare legs, and his jaw went slack, letting the packet fall to the floor. He quickly set the drinks down on the nightstand and, keeping his eye on John’s wounds, reached down to grab his food.

“Holy hell.”

Before John could mount a defense, Tom fixed him with _the look_. Brow drawn together, mouth an even line, and those beautiful brown eyes looking right into him not with anger but with disappointment and worry. John averted his gaze.

“I didn’t realize it was so bad. You shouldn’t have walked here on that leg. _Either_ leg,” Tom said, sitting down beside him.

“I— Mm.” He glanced back at Tom; the look was still there. John felt his cheeks color. “I wanted to see you.”

“ _John_ …”

“But you’re right. I shouldn’t aggravate those wounds,” he conceded.

Tom’s expression slowly melted into a pensive smile, and he picked up John’s hand to kiss the back of his knuckles.

“Well, you’re here now. Which means you’re going to stay in bed, rest your legs, and let me take care of you.”

“…And drink chocolate milk?” John asked, eyeing the glass.

“And drink chocolate milk,” Tom agreed, handing it over. He opened the little foil packet and began munching, then offered a handful of dried fruit to John, who immediately picked out all of the blueberries for himself.

_The blueberries. The bell. The bull’s horns._ Memories all buried under glass.

One of Tom’s hands curled gingerly around his own, the man’s fingers twining between his like they had been made to fit. John realized then that he had drifted off; he found himself doing that more and more, lately. Closing his eyes, he inhaled and brought himself back to the present, then squeezed Tom’s hand just enough to acknowledge him.

Ever the diplomat, Tom did not ask what he was thinking about. Instead, he asked, “What would you like to do tonight? Remember, ‘nothing at all’ is a valid answer.”

John tilted his head thoughtfully, and looked up into Tom’s smiling eyes. It was incredible to think that they had fallen into each other’s orbit twice in one lifetime, but he had resolved not to question it. Whether it was luck or fate or pure coincidence, all that mattered was the _now_.

“I think,” John answered, kissing him, “I’d like to sleep. With you.”


End file.
